A People's Man eBook

learnt the knack of wearing our Sunday coats.
But just you listen. If Mr. Foley’s been
getting at you about this cotton strike, and you mean
to throw cold water upon it to-night, then I tell
ye that you’re out for trouble. These Lancashire
lads don’t stick at a bit. They’ll
pull you limb from limb if you give them any of Mr.
Foley’s soft sawder. We’re out to
fight—­in our own way, perhaps, but to fight.”

“It is true that I have spent the week-end with
Mr. Foley,” Maraton admitted. “I
had thought, perhaps, to have reported to you to-day
the substance of our conversation. I feel now,
though,” he continued, “that it would
be useless. You call yourselves Labour Members,
and in your way you are no doubt excellent machines.
I, too, call myself a Labour man, but we stand far
apart in our ideas, in our methods. I think, Mr.
Peter Dale and gentlemen, that we will go our own ways.
We will fight for the people as seems best to us.
I do not think that an alliance is possible.”

They stared at him, a little amazed.

“Look here, young man,” Peter Dale expostulated,
“what’s it all about? What do you
want from us? I spoke of a job as lecturer just
now. If you’ve really got the gift of speaking
that they say you have, that’ll bring you into
Parliament in time, and I reckon you’ll settle
down fast enough with the rest of us then. Until
then, what is it you want? We are sensible men.
We all know you can’t go spouting round the country
for nothing, whether it’s for the people, or
woman’s suffrage, or any old game. Open
your mouth and let’s hear what you have to say.”

Maraton rose to his feet.

“I will, perhaps,” he said, “come
to you with an offer a little later on. For the
present I must be excused. I have an appointment
which Mr. Henneford has arranged for me with Mr. Preston,
Secretary of the Union here. There are a good
many facts I need to make sure of before to-night.”

Mr. Dale moved his pipe to the other side of his mouth.

“That’s all very well for a tale,”
he muttered, “but I’m not so sure about
letting you go on to the platform at all to-night.
We don’t want our people fed up with the wrong
sort of stuff.”

Maraton smiled.

“Mr. Dale,” he begged quietly, “listen.”
They were all, for a moment, silent. Maraton
opened the window. From outside came a low roar
of voices from the packed crowds who were even now
blocking the street.

“These are my masters, Mr. Dale,” Maraton
said, “and I don’t think there’s
any power you or your friends could make use of to-night,
which will keep me from my appointment with them.”